


Smashed Lettering and Archangel Wings

by voleuse



Category: Wild Hunt - Jocelin Foxe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I will face this landscape and look at it as she was looked upon</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smashed Lettering and Archangel Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishafel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/gifts).



> References to the first book only. Title and summary adapted from Eavan Boland's _Called_.

The priestess wrapped her arms around him, her fists hard against the small of his back. Hamon looked down at her, confusion spiking through the fog of his leader's call. Her grey eyes were wide, storm-deep and panicked, her lips thin in her resolve.

He'd liked her, liked the way her smile had curved. The way she'd anointed him, even knowing he didn't, couldn't, would never deserve it. This one cared about him and he hadn't expected it.

She was shouting, a prayer or a plea, her tone desperate. The words were lost to him, lost in the roaring of the call. He was drowning in it, and she clutched him closer.

He felt a fillip of regret before the call overtook everything, but no matter.

He broke her hold with a rough shake, and she stumbled back, fell, and there was a hollow snap, and then he finally slept.

*

 _Hamon bent his head to his sister's ear, her perfume snaking around him like death. Her fingernails tapped against his wrist. "What are you planning?" he murmured, low enough so that the courtiers could not hear him._

 _"Brother." Herlind grinned up at him with that poison-sweetness that had taunted them since they were children. "What deviltries you conjure." She didn't disguise the purr of her voice, nor the jangle of her bracelets as she set her hand against his chest._

 _He snorted and leaned back into his chair, letting her retreat and bow. "You can't hide for long," he told her._

 _She tilted her head, and the courtiers whispered all around them._

*

Ellis flipped a dagger with his left hand, over and over again. Hamon scowled, sensing the prelude to a question. "Ask, then," he said. He curled his hand around his goblet, the wine sloshing over the rim.

"Would you have stayed?" Ellis asked. He didn't look at Hamon as he asked; he knew the question was too intimate, too terrifying. "With her?"

"To what purpose? Gratitude?" Hamon gulped the wine. It was cheap; it burned slowly, to no effect. "I made her no promises. Not even lies."

The moon was high above them, still a waning sliver. The dagger stilled in Ellis' hand. He set it on the table. "I saw you with her, once. In the marketplace."

 _Her slim arm looped within his, and she laughed, too loudly, too happily, at the antics of a juggler. He looked down at her, and she leaned closer to him, her breast pressing against his arm. There was a trace of pastry at the corner of her mouth, and he dipped his head--_

"It no longer matters," Hamon said. "She is long dead, by now."

"Did you--"

"It no longer matters," Hamon said. He took another draught of wine, and Ellis began flipping his dagger again.

*

 _Herlind twisted in his grasp, sliding away and donning her robe. "The rumors mean nothing. Court gossip." She turned, her silhouette limned by moonlight. "What would you have of me?" Her mouth held a hint of a leer._

 _He hovered in the doorway, feeling ill in his heart. "I would have the truth. Nothing more."_

 _"Hamon, you wound me." Herlind's robe slipped from her shoulder, artfully. "I have no designs. No plans. No labyrinthine plots."_

 _"Herlind," he said. "Do not play games with me."_

 _She folded her arms, the shadows of her eyes sparking. "Then go play with your concubines, brother, if you will not hear me." She raised her chin, and Hamon hesitated, doubting._

 _Herlind strode forward, mirroring his braced arms against the threshold. "Go," she repeated, and the anger there was clear._

 _"Truth, Herlind?" His rage was dissipating, and he relaxed, his shoulders slumping._

 _She kissed his cheek, a perfunctory gesture, and stepped back. "I am tired."_

 _"Aye," Hamon said. "Good night."_

 _Herlind looked at him, over her shoulder and coy, and dismissed him._

*

Walter, Hamon knew, could barely contain his disapproval. He stared out the window, even after summoning Hamon to the study. Hamon resisted the impulse to be apologetic.

"Who must I kill?" he asked instead.

Walter jerked his attention away from the rain, his gaze falling on Hamon like hail. "No one," he replied, "yet. But there is a waiting woman we need made amenable."

"Ah," Hamon said. His jaw tightened and he made it into a smile. "Should I divest her of her virtue, then?"

Walter scowled. "She is the only one that can provide us access to the documents we need," he said. He did not, however, elaborate on what he expected of Hamon. "In two days."

"Not long to make a maid fall in love with me," Hamon noted.

"Fear would do," Walter conceded.

"It usually does." Malice surged within him. "Do you have any suggestions?"

Walter shook his head. "I leave it to your expertise." His voice was cold, as if Hamon had requested to terrorize the maiden himself.

"The law is often intimidating," Hamon mused. "Could not Thomas--"

"Thomas is best employed elsewhere," Walter snapped.

"Lucky Thomas," Hamon said, as silkily as he could manage. "Tell me more about this woman."

*

 _Herlind's hand quaked as she dropped the goblet onto the floor. "What--"_

 _"Is the wine not to your taste?" Hamon settled on the bench, steeling himself against regret._

 _"Surprising. You made a gift of it to me, just last week."_

 _Her eyes widened, and she clutched her chest, her hand like a claw at her bodice. "Hamon."_

 _"Sister." He stood, stepping carefully over the spilled wine as he approached her. "I expect these games between the two of us. Sometimes I even enjoy them, but," he clasped her shoulder and pulled her close, "not when you toy with_ my son." __

 _Herlind was gasping now, gagging as she tore at his tunic. He embraced her, closing his eyes as she shook in his arms, her shrieks muffled against his chest._

 _He opened his eyes as she stilled._

 _The old nurse stared back at him from the doorway, her mouth agape. And he watched as indignation rolled over her, and hatred._

 _When she finally shouted, it was not for help._


End file.
